


Who Bit the Messenger?

by FallenInTheWetTypeWater



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: A comedy of errors, Awkward Romance, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Light Angst, Light to Medium Angst, M/M, Multi, Other, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Romance, assumption my dear mitz is the mother of all fuk ups, classic miscommunication, getting back with the ex, irregular updates, tagged/rated for future chapters, they are vampires after all, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenInTheWetTypeWater/pseuds/FallenInTheWetTypeWater
Summary: “When Renesmee finally met Aro properly, she had no idea who he actually was. He was just some random guy she caught scampering up a tree on the border of the Cullen forest.”Post-series with flashbacks. Aro uses Renesmee as an excuse to keep tabs on Carlisle and the Cullens. Renesmee just wants a friend. Rated for future chapters.





	1. The Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> Our story begins post-Breaking Dawn after the vampire world has settled down a bit following the whole Not-Quite Immortal Child Incident.
> 
> Updating will be irregular so apologies in advance. If someone had told me I would be writing Twilight fanfic in 2019 I would have laughed and had us both sanctioned. Cross-posted to FF.net with the ye olde fics. Same name.

A loud holler of ‘ _MESSAGE FROM DADDY CULLEN!_ ’ echoed down the long halls of the Volterra coven accompanied by the telltale _stomp squeak stomp squeak_ of rubber soled platform boots.

Aro sighed and failed to keep his attention rooted to the illuminated text balanced on his crossed knee as a second holler of ‘MESSAGE FROM DADDY CULLEN – _OUTTA MY WAY!_ ’ slammed off the walls and into his skull.

Eventually the oak doors flung open to reveal the source of the offending noise aside a mildly terrified rookie guard.

‘I’m so sorry sir, I did try to stop –‘

Aro did not raise his eyes or his voice instead halting the young man’s babbling with a hand. The guard all but tripped back out the door in relief when Aro made a shooing motion with said raised hand. The loud stranger made a mock bow ushering him out before slamming the door behind.

‘Message from –’ They began again, swaggering forward.

‘The Cullens.’ Aro sighed, snapping his book shut. ‘I _know_.’

This was their little ritual. Their game. The Classy and the Crass.

‘From the cute blond one.’ The Messenger continued, removing their gloves and stuffing them into their back pocket.

‘How wonderfully non-specific.’ Aro drawled.

‘And here I thought the ‘daddy’ bit was a sure-fire give-away.’

Aro actually chuckled at that. The Messenger smirked and began rolling their sleeves up far higher than strictly necessary, still swaggering forward.

‘So what does _dear Carlisle_ have to say for himself?’ He attempted to nonchalantly deposit the book onto Caius’ empty chair but misjudged spectacularly. It clipped the arm and after a quick front flip for style hit the flagstones spine first, golden edged pages fluttering open like butterfly wings.

The Messenger thrust out their hand no less than a full step short of comfortable reach. Aro raised an eyebrow. The Messenger waggled their fingers. Aro uncrossed his legs and threw his arms out in a look that clearly said **_I_** _am not moving, **you** move_. So they did. Sliding their hand slowly, deliberately down the fingers of his right hand. Down over the palm. Finally clasping at the base of his thumb. Aro’s other hand swept up and over both.

His eyes glazed over. Head tilting ever so slightly as waves of unfiltered thought washed over his mind. 

‘ _Mio Caro_ your mind is _filthy_.’ Aro breathed, relinquishing their hand.

The Messenger winked. Bowed. Then backed out of the room.

Aro exhaled slowly, heavily, then recrossed his legs.

Whose idea was it to bite the messenger anyway? Oh, that’s right. It was his.


	2. Keeping Up With the Cullens

‘You do know there’s this wonderful new invention called the _cell phone_ , right? Or _email_?’ Bella complained knowing full well the answer as she let the Messenger in the front door of the Cullen house for the third time that month. The Volturi had been checking in more and more frequently since Renesmee had grown into her full power and statue. No doubt making sure she hadn’t suddenly gone feral and run off into the woods with outcast wolves.

‘We’re old fashioned.’ The Messenger smiled warmly. Bella did not smile back.

‘Aro doesn’t like talking on the phone.’ Alice called from the landing. ‘I’ll go get Carlisle.’

‘So he’d rather send people to talk to people to go back and talk to him instead of what? Skype?’ Bella continued, ushering them into the lounge.

‘Can’t read people over the phone.’ The Messenger explained as Alice disappeared upstairs.

Bella frowned, not for the first time thinking that Aro has _issues_.

‘Oh hey Messenger’s here!’ Emmett’s voice boomed, entering the room well before the rest of him. ‘Anyone got any rude messages for the Volturi?’ 

‘Yeah I’ve got a few.’ Rosalie snarled, folding her arms and leaning heavily against Emmett.

‘Now now play nice.’ Carlisle scolded softly as he descended the stairs with the remainder of the clan and Jacob in tow. ‘No biting the messenger.’

Several sets of eyes rolled in their sockets and many voices groaned. One went so far as to whine ‘ _Laaaaame’_.

When the hubbub eventually subsided, the Messenger went into their official spiel in that tired monotone specific only to customer service.

‘As official representative head of this coven, do you accept delivery of this message? Do you accept responsibility for any consequences following delivery of said message? Do you accept that on acceptance of these conditions forthwith you and your clan forgo the right to bite, maim, destroy, or otherwise be angry with the deliverer of these tidings under Volturi statute _nolite interficere nuntius_?’

Carlisle gave the official response of, ‘Proceed.’ and the Messenger visibly relaxed.

‘Right so, message begins: As per our agreement you yourself, your… mate? Wife? Anyway, you,’ here they gestured to Esme who was trying to decide whether to be amused or insulted. ‘Are welcome **always** to the halls of Volterra. As are you, _dear Alice_. **Not you** ,’ Here they pointed to Rosalie, ‘or **you** ,’ and Emmett, ‘or **you** ,’ and Jasper. ‘ _Darling Edward_ , _Isabelle_ , and of course the _dear sweet little one_ **are**.’ Bella looked as though she was going to be sick. ‘The dog is **not** welcome unless it is thoroughly washed first and is kept on _a very short leash_. _Tanto amore_ , Aro. Message ends.’

The silence seemed endless until Renesmee began to laugh. Great howling laughs that forced her to cling to Jacob’s arm to keep herself upright. She had no real memory of Aro, meeting him only that once across the snow-covered field. Her father would speak of the Volturi often and in broad terms as part of her history lessons and when speaking of the leaders themselves often did so with a kind of begrudging respect and slight disgust. He would speak of their gifts of telepathy and she would think of a large smooth hand held out towards her. Remember watching the understanding dawn in deep red eyes as she gave her short life’s experiences willingly. The cold under her palm. The soft voice. The flash of fear and horror. Her mother when forced to speak of Aro would do so in a voice and vocabulary that would make the Devil himself rethink his life choices. So she stopped trying. Grandma Esme, she thought, pitied him. And Grandad Carlisle when pressed would speak with such sympathy you couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was repressed regret. But of what? After being introduced to the wonders of internet-archived entertainment and the many messages over the last few months she had formed a very definite impression. _For never was a story of more woe…_

Rosalie silently continued to shred the arm of her leather jacket with her nails, fuming enough to spontaneously combust.

‘He’s just toying with us.’ Alice soothed, rubbing Jasper’s hand.

Carlisle sighed, catching Edward’s eye in a look that clearly said _Well I don’t know what we expected._ and _That’s Aro for you_.

‘Apart from that,’ chirped the Messenger completely oblivious to the sudden upheaval in atmosphere, ‘continue to not go out of your way to stir things up with the humans and the big bad wolves and your coven will be left alone.’

Jacob growled deep in his throat and barred his teeth.

‘Any reply?’

‘Uh no, thank you, I think that’s pretty straightforward.’ Carlisle cleared his throat. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

The Messenger fell in step behind him, suddenly conscious of how very stab-able their back looked now their official duty had been done.

Suddenly Carlisle stopped with one hand on the front doorknob.

‘Actually, yes. I do have a message.’

The Messenger raised an expectant eyebrow.

Carlisle took a long, slow breath that he didn’t actually need. Then smiled sadly and shook his head.

‘Oh he knows.’ He smiled again, more warmly this time, and clapped the Messenger on the shoulder. ‘Safe journey.’

Carlisle closed the door between them and rested his forehead against it.

The Messenger raised the hood of their jacket and faded into the tree-lined background.

Thousands of miles and a day or three away, a sudden cry of ‘He knows **_what_** _?’_ Shook through the halls of Volterra with such force Caius dropped his lunch and stained his favourite shirt. ‘ _What_ is it that I am _supposed_ to know?’

‘ _I’m not a mind reader._ ’ Caius mouthed mockingly as he dabbed at the blood with a napkin.

‘I KNOW I’M A MIND READER JUST NOT THAT SORT YOU UTTER HEDGE-BORN LOTTEREL!’ The shouting continued.

Caius poured himself another goblet and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this idea that when ye olde vampires get worked up they forget when and/or where they picked up words so will sometimes curse someone out using cutting-edge Medieval insults or just straight up dead languages. 
> 
> “thou hedge-born lotterel” is from the Medieval Norman French, Italian, and English and roughly translates to you classless scoundrel.
> 
> “nolite interficere nuntius” Latin. Literally: do not kill the messenger.


	3. With Friends Like These

When Renesmee finally met Aro properly, she had no idea who he actually was. He was just some random guy she caught scampering up a tree on the border of the Cullen forest. When she imagined the Volturi she imagined them in the abstract. As the pinnacle of vampiric ideals, a collection of powers and reputations. She certainly never imagined that any of the leaders of the most revered, and feared coven across the globe would be the sort of vampires who climb trees.

She had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and instinctively chased after it. It might have been lunch. When her quarry finally came back into view it was not lunch but a man in a black tailored suit parkouring his way up into the canopy in very expensive Italian leather shoes.

Aro finally settled on lounging around in one of the larger forks of an ancient elm about fifty-foot up. Back pressed against the trunk and one foot dangling in the air. He may as well have been on a sun lounge at the Coco Cabana.

Renesmee hunkered down behind a stump and watched. 

‘You can’t keep doing this!’ A petulant voice shot through the quiet afternoon like a rifle.

Renesmee froze. Reverting to the primal belief of _if I don’t move it can’t see me_. Aro tore off the closest leaf, scrunched it up and lobbed it in the general direction of his brother’s disembodied voice, but otherwise his general languor remained undisturbed. Wherever Caius was, he was still too far away to be considered any real threat. Slowly Renesmee began to relax.

‘Either come and say hello or go away.’ She heard call from above and relaxing went right out the window.

She wanted to ask _How’d you know I was here?_ as she watched him continue to snap pieces off a twig and drop them over the side. Never once looking directly at her as she clambered up the trunk. When she finally plonked herself down in the fork beside him, what she did ask was;

‘Who are you hiding from?’

Aro paused momentarily in his snapping.

‘My brother.’ He said eventually. ‘Whenever we come to America he becomes _insufferable_. Having me chaperoned everywhere I go, never letting me out of his sight.’ Once Aro started venting, he found it difficult to stop. ‘ _Just because_ my ex-mate has a quaint little found-family coven out here he’s _absolutely convinced_ I’m going to forget why we’re _actually_ here and – and,’ He snapped the remainder of the branch clean in two. ‘We didn’t exactly part in the best of circumstances. Who are _you_ hiding from?’

Renesmee took the offered branch and started mindlessly stripping the leaves, not registering the question.

‘You’re very trusting.’ Aro observed. 

‘It very easy to trust when half your family are telepaths or empaths and you’ve got a werewolf who’ll kill anyone who looks at you.’ Renesmee replied, somewhat sadly. ‘Not to mention my mother.’ She added darkly.

‘Ahh, _Bella_.’ Aro laughed, remembering the little human girl who had yelled some of the oldest blood soaked vampires into submission, and the immortal queen she had become. ‘You resemble her greatly.’

‘You know Mum?’ She asked, not really expecting an answer. ‘Then you know why I’m up this tree.’

They both laughed and settled into a strange sort of companionable silence.

In truth she was up a tree with a strange vampire on the edge of their territory largely because of Jacob. But mostly because she was lonely. In the beginning it had been great fun to have an imprinted werewolf around. It was like having a pet dog you could actually talk to. Free rides, soft fur to cuddle. But as she got older and started wanting normal social things like friends and trips to the shops or a simple walk in the wood then things started getting _complicated_. Any potential friends had to be vetted by Jacob, any trips to the mall had to be accompanied by Jacob, a walk in the woods or along the beach or the _backyard_ had to be with _Jacob_. Everywhere she turned, Jacob Jacob Jacob _Jacob. And she was sick of it._ So that morning when she went to get her coat off the hook to go aimlessly wander through the woods and bumped into Jacob when she turned around she just _snapped_. Yelled, _screamed_ at him to get out of her way and _out of her life_ for _just_ _fifteen minutes_ and then hightailed it into the green leaving her jacket dropped on the hallway floor. She didn’t stop running until she reached the farthest point away from the house and glimpsed the movement that had brought her here to the strange but somewhat familiar vampire in the _very expensive suit_ that was getting absolutely wrecked by bark scratching.

‘So what happened? With your mate, I mean.’

‘Walked out one day. Just walked out. _Going to the new world. Probably won’t be back.’_

‘Oh _shit!_ ’ Renesmee suddenly yelped, cutting short Aro’s internal trip down painful memory lane. ‘Oh I am gonna be in _so much shit_ when I get home.’ 

‘As am I.’

‘ _Fine_ , have it your way.’ Caius’ voice rang out again, this time very clearly past the point of annoyed and well into pissed off. ‘We are going home _without you_!’

‘Do you still love them?’ Renesmee asked quietly.

Aro sighed, taking one last look out over the canopy before dropping out of the tree.

Renesmee climbed across to the vacated seat and watched her strange new friend take all the time in the world to walk the few hundred yards to the edge of the forest. When he finally disappeared from view she looked up. Noticing for the first time the perfectly framed and unobscured view of the sculptured angles and shining glass of the Cullen house formed by hand stripped and broken branches. 

When Renesmee finally returned to the house her mother was fuming on the doorstep and Jacob in wolf form was wearing holes in the porch concrete. The rest of the clan were scattered around in strategic positions where they could catch the impending drama without _appearing_ to be. 

‘What were you _thinking_?’ Bella screeched the moment Renesmee was within earshot.

‘Chill out Mum, I just needed some space is all. It’s not like I went very far.’

‘You just – you can’t just have a casual _chat with_ – you can’t just _go climbing trees with_ – _with –’_ Bella had already worked herself up into a state of barely expressible fury when Edward appeared placing a hopefully calming hand on her shoulder.

‘She doesn’t know.’ He whispered.

‘Know what?’ Renesmee asked.

‘Your _new friend_ ,’ Bella snarled. ‘ _That_ was _Aro._ ’

Oh yeah, she was _absolutely_ in deep _deep_ trouble.


	4. Dreaming My Dreams With You

After what seemed like a decade-long shouty lecture from her mother, Renesmee had been grounded and confined to her room for the foreseeable future. She may have been “physically mature” but “apparently” still had a lot of “growing up to do”. Just in case she felt like clambering out of the window, Jacob had taken to sleeping under it and guard-wolves do not get bored. 

After yet another attempt to simply sneak off out the door had been thwarted by the sudden appearance of her father on the other side and a soft but stern, ‘You thought about it, didn’t you?’ Renesmee resigned herself to nesting on the bed and began to drift off into her imagination.

She began to imagine a grand palace with ceilings so high you couldn’t lean back far enough to see them without falling over backwards. Giant pillars of marble supporting sweeping arches of other carved stones. Walls hung with intricate tapestries, oil paintings, and stained glass windows to put the Sistine Chapel to shame. She imagined a room. A round tower room with windows framed by dark velvet drapes all the way to the ceiling. A matching set hung from the four-poster tucked away into the closet thing to a corner near the door. An enormous ornately carved mahogany desk and matching chair piled high with books and papers sat in front of the windows overlooking a layered city of sandy stoned houses with brightly coloured roofs practically carved into the rolling green landscape.

She imagined a man with long wavy hair and a tailored suit staring out the window. She imagined him leaning against the glass, forehead resting on a raised arm. She imagined him with sadness in his eyes and loneliness in what was left of his heart. But something was off. He was… flat. Translucent. Like a corporeal spectre without substantial form enough to touch. As was the furniture and by extension, the room itself. 

For a while she imagined this as a cinematographer would a misc-en-scene. Little more than a living tableau. Then he spoke.

‘Either come and say hello,’ he began.

‘Or go away.’ Renesmee finished. She glimpsed his smile reflected in the glass, suddenly aware that she was standing physically in the centre of the room and was not just a floating camera lens. ‘I remember.’ She neglected to add that since this was _her_ dream that she would _have_ to remember for it to be happening at all. ‘I got in so much shit for talking to you.’

Aro turned his back on the window and gestured to the chair beside the desk.

‘Apparently,’ Renesmee continued, sinking into the worryingly transparent cushion. ‘You tried to kill my family. But something tells me they’re hella biased.’

Aro took the hint and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. He began, as her father once had, with an attempt to impart just how horrifying the prospect of a resurgence of immortal children would be. How even the most ruthless, remorseless, and completely soulless could be reduced to paralytic fear at the mere _thought._ How terrifying, how wonderful, how _utterly_ _destructive_ to their world such children had been and could be again. He spoke of Irina’s mother, of town after town laid waste before her creation. Of the long road toward legislation, the absolute outlawing of the practice, and the absolute enforcement. Finally he spoke of Irina.

‘She saw me catching snowflakes.’ Renesmee whispered. She was surprised she was remembering so much.

Aro then spoke of the gathering of witnesses. Those who had experience with immortal children, in the worst of ways.

‘I had so hoped you were different.’ He admitted softly. ‘But even so, I would have had you killed if that was what it took to keep the peace. I would not – I _will not_ – risk my family on an unknown. If not for Alice…’ He trailed off.

‘What did Alice show you?’ Renesmee asked. For a family of mind-powered vampires they had an awful habit of not actually communicating. Assuming instead that everyone else would just _know._

Aro suddenly stood and dusted off his trousers.

‘I think, perhaps, that that is enough for today.’ He said, turning back towards the window.

Renesmee took that to mean that her subconscious was out of ideas and that the dream was over. She stood up from the chair and the tower room melted away around her, parts of her own room solidifying in their place.

Her father was frowning in the doorway.

‘Aro can still have us _all_ killed.’ He said. ‘Especially you. Remember that.’ 

Disappointed looks from her father or no, Renesmee returned in her dreams to the tower room every night without fail. In the beginning, Aro would stand by the window or sit on the floor and patiently answer her questions about her parents, the covens, typical vampire stuff she was sure she knew somewhere in the back of her mind but needed a refresher on. Sometimes her questions expanded to history and art and Aro told stories of Michelangelo and Leonardo that made her wheeze. Sometimes he’d get carried away and start referring to them by pet names in Italian or just straight up Mikey and Leo. Sometimes Renesmee would talk about her day, past explorations into the forest, or just vent in general about _life_. It was cheaper than therapy and his voice was nice. The next time she visited there was a second chair and she vaguely wondered why she hadn’t dreamt up one before. Sometimes Aro would read aloud from one of the absurdly large books that always seemed to be piled up around the place. Sometimes they would just sit in silence and watch the world through the windows. Every time she visited, everything seemed just a little more solid.


	5. What Once Is Seen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut after the plot. Relevant scene(s) will be bookended with ~*S*~ for easy skippage. Specific warnings for voyeurism, masturbation.
> 
> So halfway through writing this I read some work by Eternal_Annoyance and nickcullenlind1 and absolutely fell in love with the idea of Aro as a trans man so rewrote relevant parts to match. Pun not intended. The change to trans Aro doesn’t actually alter the plot or Aro’s characterisation, it’s just a nice little layer, so feel free to skip over the explicit bits if you’d rather not go down that road.

Weeks passed into months and still Renesmee retuned night after night to the tower room. Still they talked of everything and of nothing. Read together or apart. Listened to music. Sat in silence. The routine itself was comforting. At some point Edward had stopped appearing, glowering, in the doorway at the end of every dream and had reduced himself to staring disapprovingly over the breakfast table. Either way, Renesmee had long since taken to mentally shouting _It’s not like I can control my **dreams** , Dad! _every morning just in case he was listening in. If she could then there would be days when she _wouldn’t_ wake up from them, especially not before she wanted to.

One such occurrence fell on the day of a festival dedicated to renewing old acquaintances and rekindling old loves. They sat together as they often did, gazing down into the streets below as parades of people in brightly coloured costumes waving ribbons danced through the town.

‘What were they like?’ Renesmee found herself asking during a lull in the music drifting up from below. ‘The mate you lost. What were they like?’

Aro was silent. Aro remained silent for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. 

‘The best of us,’ he eventually replied. ‘And not in the classical sense. Not a war monger or a tyrant. Not power-hungry or overly murderous like the rest of us, but kind. Just _kind._ Too kind.’ A sad smile crossed his face. ‘Too kind to stand someone like me.’

Renesmee looked down at her shoes, wishing she could melt into them.

‘And _gorgeous.’_ Aro added in a voice that better suited a phrase like _hot damn_.

In spite of herself, Renesmee giggled and the tension was broken.

‘Hottest thing in the 17th century. Blond curls, voice like a nightingale. Charming as _all hell._ Adonis would have been jealous.’

He spoke of the veritable _mountain_ of degrees and other academic accolades his mate had acquired over the decades. Of the grand parties, theatrical and musical events they would host for the European covens. Their prowess with a piano. Their _smile._ He was still so obviously, hopelessly, _irreparably in love_ that Renesmee _had_ to wonder:

‘Why did they leave?’

Aro froze in mid description of his ex-mate’s reading habits.

‘If he had stayed, he would not be who he is.’

Part of Renesmee wanted to push the point further. Part wanted to change the subject completely and get back to the comfortable lazy day atmosphere they had before. But the choice it seemed was out of her conscious’ hands.

‘Go now.’ Aro said. ‘Think no more on this and face the morrow with fire in your veins.’

Then he stood. Rested his hand on the back of Renesmee’s chair for a moment. Then turned and left.

Renesmee sat on her own for a while, her mind churning trying to recall another instance of Aro leaving first. Subconscious or no she always felt a certain level of control over her own dreams. Steer the conversation, decide on a activity, do absolutely _nothing at all_ and let her idea of Aro run on autopilot. She had a certain level of trust in her own head. It was _her dream_ and she could wake up whenever she wanted. Even when she felt like Aro was nudging her out he was a _dream Aro_. _Renesmee_ had to be the one to actually leave. To watch him fade away with the surroundings. To wake up. But this was different. _He had left._ Just _got up and left._ Physically _walked out of the room_. And she was still here. In the room she was not even sure there was an outside to. Waiting to wake up. 

~*S*~

After a particularly boring Sunday morning, Renesmee decided to break with routine and sink herself into her dreams early. And so she did. But this time instead of ending up in the middle of the tower room in bright sunshine she ended up in a stone corridor in the dark.

A stifled moan broke the silence and Renesmee jumped, stumbling back into an old oak door. A second moan escaped through the cracks around the door. She carefully tried the handle. Then a third. It was unlocked. Slowly, carefully, she eased the door open just enough to poke her head around. Another moan, far louder and more distinct this time, resonated in the otherwise still air. Renesmee’s chest tightened. It sounded like…

‘ _Oh moroso.’_

Oh god it was. And he _was_.

It was the tower room. She was looking in to the tower room. The drapes were drawn but there was still just enough ambient light to know full well what was going on. What Renesmee saw had her frozen in the doorway as her higher brain functions simultaneously melted, solidified, and then imploded.

What she saw was Aro, sprawled out on his back in the middle of the four poster with a hand down the front of his pants. Hair undone and fanned out onto the sheets like a mermaid on a advertising board. A few renegade strands fell across his face and into his eyes. His shirt was also undone, jacket nowhere to be seen, revealing a chest so pale he practically _glowed in the dark._ The other hand was being intermittently bitten and sucked – on the knuckles, down the fingers, the palm – and otherwise unceremoniously stuffed between his lips in a half-hearted attempt to staunch the flow of moans and groans and grammatically incorrect babble streaming from them as his hand worked. And _oh_ how it _worked_. Palm rubbing. Fingers stroking. He arched his back as he drew his hand up alongside his hip before plunging back down. Again. And again. And _again._

All too soon though the hearty moans began to devolve into impatient, lustful whines and Aro’s drooled upon hand began to paw at the button still holding the trousers together. He cursed, pulling his happily occupied hand free to join its pair in attacking the button. _Finally_ the stubborn thing gave way and Aro wrenched the offending garment off and flung it across the room. Slowly he sunk back down onto the mattress and slid one, two, slick fingers back inside himself as his other lazily stroked an inside thigh.

_‘Dolce zucchero.’_

By the time Renesmee had scrounged together enough brain cells to realise, dream or no dream, she

still probably shouldn’t be watching this, Aro had worked himself back up to to writhing around on the sheets and _Ohhh_ -ing in an octave she was pretty sure shouldn’t be possible by once-human vocal chords. 

_‘Innamorato,’_ Aro gasped, wrenching his fingers free and scrambling over onto his knees. He was a certified _mess_. Eyes blown wide. Hair a feral nest. Panting hard. Drooling openly. And he was _dripping._ The inside of his thighs were _slick_ and _shining_. Slowly his hand resumed its journey down between his legs. A single finger rubbed slowly in the wet. Oh he was _so wet._ Then a second. Then a third. Aro shifted his knees further apart and slumped forward, weight and forehead braced against his free arm. He groaned long and low, bending his wrist to bury all three fingers in as far as the contorted position would allow.

‘ _Oh! Oh, where is Caius when I need him?’_ Aro keened. A few more strokes and his legs gave out. He started grinding desperately against both hands, pushing down hard and fast into the mattress. And all the while moaning. _Keening._ Teeth biting, _tearing_ , into the soaked sheets. Oh he was so close. _So close._

Suddenly Aro’s head snapped back and he screamed ‘ _Oh Carlie!’_ into the darkness.

Renesmee woke with such force she nearly catapulted onto the floor. 

~*S*~


End file.
